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Bai Yan did not weep when they brought her the body of her son. Situ Ming was wracked with sobs, unable to speak as he knelt next to his wife and dead child, but Bai Yan-daren’s face was sad yet serene as she gently touched the wounds on his face, lifted the small burned hands in her own.
“My poor dear,” she murmured, tenderly placing kisses on Bai Jiu’s unmoving fingers as Zhuo Yichen explained, unable to prevent his voice from breaking or to hold back his own tears. “My bravest boy.”
“He was. The bravest.” Zhuo Yichen wanted to say more, to be sure Bai Jiu’s parents understood the debt he owed them, that the world owed them, for the sacrifice made by their son, but his throat was too tight with grief for any further words. Wen Xiao moved closer beside him and placed her hand on his arm, leaned against him, her face tear-streaked, but her voice was clear when she spoke. The Baize goddess said all the things he meant to say and Zhuo Yichen squeezed her hand back in gratitude.
They sat for awhile in silence, once there was nothing left to say. Zhuo Yichen both wished they would cover Bai Jiu’s face with the cloak he had wrapped him in again, not sure how much longer he could bear it, and also dreaded the moment when he would never again see the face of his friend, his little brother. Bai Yan sighed at long last and pulled the cloak up over her son’s face, and Zhuo Yichen felt grief strike through him again, gasping an indrawn breath as though he’d been pierced by a sword.
“We should plant him soon, husband,” she said, kissing Bai Jiu’s hand once more and then turning it slightly to examine, before tucking it away under the cloak. “He’s sending out roots already. I know a good place, where the sun warms the earth and the soil is soft and rich. It may take him longer to re-sprout, given his human blood, but the rain will help.”
Situ Ming, who had been sitting slumped and exhausted by grief, raised his head slowly. Zhuo Yichen abruptly found himself kneeling, Wen Xiao pulled down with him, both of them gripping each other hard.
“What…,” he stammered.
“What do you mean,” Wen Xiao said, just as unsteady but quicker to the point. “Do you mean he’s still alive?”
Bai Yan smiled.
Some years later…
Zhuo Yichen crossed the little stream, the stepping stones long familiar from many visits to the little garden. Talk to him, Bai Yan-daren had said. It will help him remember to be human, and so Zhuo Yichen came almost every day, no matter how weary or how urgent the other demands on his time. Bai Jiu was now a sturdy young sapling, from those first tender, fragile sprouts. Zhuo Yichen admired the unfurling of a new leaf at the tip of one branch, letting it curl around his finger, perfect and glowing a pure translucent green where it caught the sunlight. No insect dared nibble, Zhuo Yichen made sure of it, although he allowed the flitting little damselflies and fireflies to stay for company.
“So tall you are now,” he praised, measuring to his chest. It had been strange at first, to hold a conversation with the other side so silent - he missed Bai Jiu’s chatter dearly - but he’d grown better at it with time. Wen Xiao, with her three hundred years of experience keeping company with tree-kind, told him not to worry so much, his presence was enough. Sometimes she played the Baize Token for Xiao Jiu, saying he needed to become familiar for the day he would meet his tree-jiejie (Pei Sijing argued it should be tree-meimei, as Bai Jiu came first even though his tree sibling was older. Bai Yan-daren only smiled and said family relations worked differently in the tree clan and did not elaborate).
“You’ve grown even since yesterday, you’re amazing.” At his feet a small cluster of leaves rustled in the breeze, and he crouched, smiling gently.
“And you’re amazing too,” he reassured, touching the pale orange leaves of the little sprout growing in the shelter of the larger sapling, their roots entwined. Ying Lei had wanted so badly to stay with them. In retrospect it shouldn’t have been surprising that a small piece of his soul had clung to Bai Jiu. Nearby an even smaller sprout seemed to lean a little, and Zhuo Yichen gave it a share of attention as well, barely daring to touch the tender single leaflet.
“Pei-jiejie will be here again soon, but I see your geges have been taking good care of you.” It had been Bai Yan’s suggestion to plant the remains of Pei Siheng’s puppet near her son, after Ying Lei had sprouted.
“The way you all cling to one another, I’ve never seen anything like it,” she had laughed. “None of you will leave without the others.”
“Always a healer, Xiao Jiu,” Zhuo Yichen murmured, standing again to smile at the young green tree. “Thank you for sharing your magic. I have to leave, maybe for a long while, but if all goes well I’ll bring back another soul for you to shelter.” He pulled a strand of bells from his hair and twined it carefully on a sturdy branch, then stepped back. A shadow at his back resolved into Pei Sijing.
“I’ll watch over them,” she said.
“He’ll be taller than me by the time I return,” Zhuo Yichen said, a little wistfully. Maybe even strong enough to take human form again, although that seemed too much to hope for. His string of bells chimed softly on its branch, and Zhuo Yichen shook his head to let Bai Jiu’s bell in his hair answer with a merry jingle of its own.
“I’ll leave first,” he said, gripping Pei-jiejie’s arm briefly. She nodded, her eyes dark and solemn.
“Travel safely.”
Zhuo Yichen turned and strode away, taking the stream in two long steps. He had one more soul-brother to find before his family could be whole again.